Drops of Dreams and Blood
by SNKDrabbles
Summary: Drabbles/prompts focused on the relationship between Mikasa Ackerman and Levi Rivaille. (NSFW content will be included, read at your own risk)
1. Chapter 1

**"Damaged"**

* * *

Mikasa Ackerman. Elite soldier. Top of her class. Unstoppable titan-slayer.

Pain in his ass.

Captain Levi Rivaille read and then re-read the report in front of him—an accounting of a recent scouting expedition. Once again Mikasa had defied orders, risking herself to ensure the safety of Eren Jaegar.

Why Jaegar was being sent out of the walls again so soon after the female titan fiasco Levi would address with Erwin and Hanji. In the meantime, it was up to him to maintain order and discipline. Normally, this was a simple glare and glower—bark the order—and it was done.

Ackerman, however, he knew his words would fall on mostly deaf and uncaring ears.

If it didn't directly involve Jaegar, she had no time for it and little interest.

With a sigh he shoves his chair back and stands. She watches him move around the desk with a look that could only be described as 'openly hostile'. It shouldn't make his mouth twitch up like it does, but he has never been the type to be amused by passivity.

"I am assuming you know why you're here," he says once he is directly in front of her.

"For reprimand," she replies, bored and impatient.

"It would seem that you're unable to follow the simplest of commands when in the field."

"Reconnaissance was completed with no loss of life. Four titans slain." She returns, eyes snapping defiantly.

She really is rather pretty, he thinks, before brushing the thought away.

"The outcome doesn't negate your defiance, Ackerman. You risk more than yourself when you act so foolhardy. You are a member of a team—a unit. You need to respect that, or else lives will be lost. I have seen you in action myself," he reminds her, his gaze flickering down to his still healing leg. "I am not impressed."

"I wasn't trying to impress you."

She has spirit, he thinks, part in admiration and partly annoyance. He circles her, eying her like a predator. She is unconcerned, and he knows why. The Scouting Legion is in desperate shape—many of its top soldiers are wounded and out of commission. She will not be taken off of duty. She's too valuable. She's not expendable.

But he knows her weakness and he's not above exploiting it. He wonders, just before he opens his mouth, just how far she will go to protect him? What would it take to shake that implacable calm she has? To make her humble, for just one moment? "You are too valuable to bench," he comments and she remains quiet. She knows this.

"Having said that, I can't have you continuously risk missions and your teammates. I will turn Eren over to the Military Police in the morning. He can remain in their custody."

She opens her mouth immediately in protest, her expression bordering on panic before he cuts in—for his own personal amusement and petty kicks: "Unless you sleep with me."

He expects her protest to become vehement denial. In truth, he half expects a kick to the head. What he doesn't expect is the stony silence that follows. He pauses, just behind her, for the span of a dozen heartbeats and still she says nothing.

Frowning, he continues his circle until he is directly in front of her once more—his eye widening when he realizes that she's tugged her white shirt from her belt and has half the buttons undone. She is flicking open another when he reaches out, fingers curling over hers in a hard grip. "For fuck's sake, Ackerman, stop."

She does. Her fingers still beneath his and she stares straight ahead, with flat eyes and her mouth compressed into a somber line. "Not here, then?" she questions and her voice is devoid of emotion.

"What?" he shakes his head, releasing her and stepping away. He wipes his hands on his trousers and stares at her, hard. She doesn't so much as blink. "No, not here. Not fucking anywhere," he snaps. He takes a breath, one hand carding through his hair. She remains quiet, impassive. ___Submissive._

It is so wrong that it makes him feel suddenly sick to his stomach and he regrets the petty urge to humiliate her. He looks at her and sees a hollow, empty, shell where a moment ago there had been life and fire. She says nothing. Looks only straight ahead. He wonders if she even sees ___him_anymore.

"How many times?" he demands, sudden, horrible, realization dawning.

She says nothing still, simply continues to stare.

"How many times have you done this?" he asks again, elaborating so she can't possibly feign confusion. "How many times have you sold yourself for his safety?"

If he is expecting denial or shame, he is disappointed. "As many times as needed." Her voice is cold, indifferent, but he sees the tremor of her chin and he hates himself for his sick jest.

After the fall of Wall Maria food, shelter, and safety were sold like drugs to the refugees. Many had nothing to barter with and ended up beaten, and robbed, deprived of anything they had left. The fact that Mikasa, Eren, and Armin had managed to scrounge through it as children without an adult to guide them or keep them safe had always seemed a fortuitous turn of events. Now Levi knew differently.

The sick ball in his stomach tightened into smoldering anger.

"Does he know?"

Only now do her eyes flicker with emotion and she shakes her head: no. "He doesn't need to," she says and he hears the plea in it. ___Don't tell him._

Fuck. Shit. Shitfuckdamn. "And Armin?"

"He suspected," she acknowledges.

Of course he did. Arlert was brilliant and a keen observer. He would have figured it out.

Levi takes a breath and a step back. "Button your shirt," he commands, noticing the toned lines of her abdomen between parted white cotton.

"I'll do whatever it is you'd like," she says instead. "Anything. Just don't take Eren from me. Please."

His skin crawls at the desperation. She would do it, he knows. Anything he asked of her. It's sickeningly tempting and he knows far too many people that would take advantage of an offer like this. "For fuck's sake, Ackerman, I'm not turning your idiot boyfriend over to the Military Police."

"But you said—"

"I know what I fucking said. Just…go. Leave."

Confusions crosses her features as she tucks in her shirt and he feels like a complete asshole. He moves toward her, reaching out to grab her wrist when she would have turned away. Startled, she turns back to him, eyes questioning.

"Jaegar is under ___my_protection," he tells her. "You don't need to risk everything for him anymore. You no longer need to…" he falters, unsure of a proper way to say what he's thinking.

"Whore myself?"

Well, that would do. "Yes," he grinds out.

She nods, but he can tell that like anything else he says it is falling on deaf ears.

"Am I dismissed now?"

He releases her arm and he watches her flee his office. Once she is gone he opens his bottom drawer and pulls out his whiskey. He needs a drink.

He stares at the closed door for long minutes and he wonders how many times a person can be broken before they are shattered beyond repair.


	2. Chapter 2

**"Red"**

* * *

The wool is heavy and coarse against his skin. It is soaked with rain and darkened by blood. His fingers curl into it spasmodicly and he forces air between clenched teeth. He has to remind himself to breathe because for the life of him he can't seem to remember how. Inhale...choke...exhale...wheeze. His chest is on fire and he is nearly blind with pain but in the distance he can hear voices and the thudding of hooves on the wet ground.

He forces another breath, fumbling for his flare gun. Numb, his fingers curl around the handle and he aims it into the darkening sky. He grits his teeth and pulls the trigger, sending purple smoke into the air. He wonders impassively, as he collapses back onto the ground, if they will arrive before he is dead.

Minutes, or maybe hours, later—he doesn't give a shot at this pint—he hears louder voices and the thunder of hooves is close enough to tremor the ground.

"I see him. Over here!"

Levi blinks up into the rain, clutching bloody wool to his chest, surprised that he can still feel his heart beating. He was certain it should have stopped by now.

"Captain!" It's Jaegar. Of course it would be Jaegar. Worried green eyes suddenly fill his vision and Levi forces another breath. Eren waves an arm. "Bring a stretcher! Can you move, sir?"

He can, he supposes, but it hurts. It hurts so fucking much that he has no words for it so he simply nods. Eren reaches down to assist the movement and that's when he sees it. There is blood everywhere and especially on the dark fabric clutched in Levi's hands.

"...Captain Levi?" Those green eyes widen and gaze expectantly.

Levi manages to sit up, breathes again through the pain in his chest. He has no words. Every rehearsed speech he's ever given seems so hollow and inadequate. Every time the members of the Scouting Legion leave the walls each and every soldier knows it could be their last mission. Even still, no one dares to utter last goodbyes, instead parting with cheerful waves and promises to return soon.

It was how Mikasa had left that morning.

"_See you later, Eren."_

Eren is shaking his head in denial. Levi knows the feeling. Acceptance is still a distant dream. "Eren," he begins, but his voice is raw and scratchy from his own screaming and he can't get the words past the lump formed there.

"No!" Frantic, Eren looks around, his gaze flitting between Levi and the surrounding trees. "Mikasa!" he calls. "This isn't funny! Come out now!"

"Eren."

"No!" He shouts, hands curling into fists. He glares at Levi and his eyes glow in the waning light. "Where is she?" he growls.

"Gone." Levi manages the word and the pain in his chest explodes. _Gone, gone, gone. _

"Don't fucking lie to me!" Eren moves in disjointed steps, closer to Levi, rage contorting his face as tears brim and fall. "Mikasa! Come on! Stop hiding! Let's go home! Mikasa!" He's screaming and Levi sees the others tense. They watch with caution, all of them aware of the danger and emotional Jaegar poses.

Levi forces himself to move. He rises to his feet, one aching inch at a time, until he is standing to face Eren. "She's not coming. Ackerman is dead." He forces the words past tight lips and clenched teeth. His voice is flat and cold, however, without inflection. He turns and orders the other to prepare for return.

He is running on automatic and waits impatiently for the comfortable numb to settle on him.

Eren suddenly strikes him, the knuckles of his fist splitting Levi's lip as he punches over and over—each connection hard enough to make Levi see stars but he doesn't block the blows. He welcomes them. This pain is nothing compared to the ache in his chest. The wailing agony that presses his larynx, begging to be let out. _Where is the numb?_

"Enough! Eren! Enough!" It's Arlert and he's wrapping his arms around Eren from behind and trying to pull him off. "Eren, stop. Please." And he is sobbing into his friend's back. "Please stop."

Eren screams and in it Levi thinks he hears the Rogue Titan's roar. He stares into glowing green eyes unblinking and doesn't move. He doesn't reach for his swords as the others have. He swallows back his own scream, reminds himself to breathe, and holds out the soaked wool.

Eren grabs it from him quickly and presses it, bloody and wet, to his face. He is screaming still, but there is no rage anymore, it is just the sound of a boy who is lost and Levi has to forcibly turn away to prevent himself from yanking the material back and clutching it to himself.

"Are you injured, sir?" Another soldier asks—Thomas something or other—waiting with the stretcher

"No."

The man takes a moment to stare, uncomprehending—because if Levi wasn't injured then why was he laying like the dead on the ground?-before he decides it is probably better if he doesn't ask.

"Is there...Is there a body?" It's Armin who asks this, his tear-filled gaze hopeless and resigned as he holds Eren.

"No."

Armin nods and slouches when Eren's knees give way. They hold one another and openly cry. It is a luxury that Levi does not have that he is suddenly, _painfully_, jealous of.

It takes hours to return to the castle and each minute burns like a tortured lifetime for Levi. He goes over the battle in his head a hundred times, he sees her die again and again until he thinks he has developed a form of sick madness. The walls come into view and he snaps back into the here and now, though that brings little ease to the pain he feels. Debriefing will wait, he is informed by a sympathetic Hanji. He's to clean up and rest. Report when he's ready.

He wonders if they'll wait a lifetime, because he doesn't think he'll ever be ready.

Their bedroom is dark and smells faintly of jasmine when he enters it—bone-weary and aching. He tugs off his blood soaked clothes and lets them drop unheeded to the carpet. His ankle throbs and his chest burns and he still has to remind himself how to breathe. He steps beside the bed and feels despair clawing from his guts. He kneels, pressing his face into the beige comforter and inhales. It still smells like her and his fingers curl into the fabric—a quiet, desperate clutch as he wishes vehemently that his willpower alone will mold it into her shape and he will feel her long fingers in his hair, stroking his scalp as she soothes his pain.

But she's not here this time to reassure him, to tell him that death comes for them all, that their sacrifice is not in his name, but in their own. Her lips don't whisper against his ear and the steady drum of her heart doesn't lull him.

The blankets are cold and empty and he feels so hollow. He opens his mouth and presses a silent scream to the bed. He is shaking and grief-stricken and she is not there. She is not there. She will never be here again. _Gone, gone, gone._

He curls his fingers tighter, until knuckles creak and the bedding is wrinkled and misshapen and he silently screams her name until even his mental voice is raw and scratched and weak.

He doesn't know how long he kneels there clad only in his briefs, clinging to the bedding, before he hears light knocking on his door. He doesn't move. Whoever it is can go fuck themselves.

He hears a faint creak and mentally kicks himself for not locking the door behind him. He half expects Hanji's sympathetic voice, but there is only silence and then the door closes once more. If he gave a rats ass about his reputation he may be worried that some recruit was going to blab about seeing naked, weeping, Captain Rivaille, but he can't even manage to give a single shit.

When he does finally turn his head he catches a glimmer of scarlet out of the corner of his eye and his wounded heart skips a beat and he is risen the next. She is not there, of course, no matter how foolishly he hoped, but hanging from his doorknob is a slender strip of well-worn scarf.

He knows, without a doubt, that there are two other matching strips, and that they will be carried by Armin and Eren.. He will thank the brat in the morning, he thinks as he wraps the material—now dry but still stained—around his palm and lifts it to his lips.

They will grieve together. They will mourn the loss of their light. And in the darkness left behind, they will hunt. And then they will kill every titan together.

Every. Single. One.


	3. Chapter 3

**"Denial"**

* * *

There were very few people in the world that could push her to the point of losing her cool. She was well known for her stoicism and cool head in all things not Eren. It wasn't a point of pride for her, it simply was the way she was—the way she had been ever since that fateful day. So why then did this little dip-shit always get her so riled up? To the point where she swung first and thought later? And how in the hell had she ended up on his lap?

But on his lap she was, with her fist in his hair and his mouth a whisper away from hers as they both heaved ragged breaths. He was the first to recover—as usual, the bastard.

"Not bad," he muttered, his half lidded gaze on her mouth. Just that look alone made her lips tingle and she darted her tongue out to stop the annoyance.

"Not bad," she echoed with a scoff. She gave his hair a good yank, jerking his head back. "Just which one of us is being pinned here?"

His arm shot out, his palm knocking her in the elbow, careening her off balance. He used the shift to his advantage, rolling them so that she was pressed to the ground with his thighs alongside her torso. He settled onto her chest with a small smirk. "You are."

_Sneaky little beady eyed shorty._ She tried to tilt herself to push him off but he remained immobile and unimpressed. He tipped his head to the side and yawned._Yawned!_

She'd show him and his titan sized ego. She didn't have the leverage for traditional throws, she realized, but that didn't mean she was completely out of options. "For a midget you weigh a lot," she ground out, wiggling her arm free.

His eyes narrowed at her comment. "What's that say about you then, brat? Getting your ass handed to you by a midget."

"Who says my ass has been handed to me?" she asked, squirming a bit more. There! She wrapped her fingers around his ankle—the bad one, she knew—and twisted. It was a cheap move, but if she'd learned anything from her Captain these past few weeks it was that life wasn't fair and that they couldn't be expected to play like it was.

"Bitch!" he growled, but she felt his weight shift up and off, and used it—rolling them once stopped in a tangle of limbs, distorted together in an awkward position with no tactical advantage—because the little bastard had circled her torso with his legs and locked himself around her, leaving her face to his navel. She may be on top, but neither one had the clear upper hand.

Mikasa levered herself up as much as she could, blowing the dark strands of her hair from her eyes so she could properly glare up at him. He smirked—again. The asshole.

Face to navel, one arm pressed to her side by his thigh, the other trapped beneath his back, breasts pressed against his groin. It was a pathetic position, really, but she was on top, so she would consider it in her favor.

She shifted forward, tentatively seeking better leverage—a way to disengage without compromising her minor victory. She felt him tense beneath her, a breath hissing between his teeth and for a moment she actually worried that she may have damaged his ankle.

"Captain—" she began.

"When I let go, I want you to get the fuck off of me," he snapped.

Mikasa blinked. Rivaille had never once yielded in a spar. "Are you tapping out?" she demanded.

He shook his head, glaring.

"Then I can't 'get the fuck off' of you," she replied. "Yield and I will. Otherwise, shut up and let me finish kicking your shitty ass."

"That's quite the mouth you have on you, Ackerman," he replied drily.

"Learned it all from you, sir," she muttered. She tipped her head to the side, appraising her mobility and options.

"I fail to see how you're going to turn this," he squeezed his legs, making her cough as he threatened to crack her ribs, "to your advantage."

"Don't underestimate me, midget."

Another squeeze and she was pretty sure she did feel a rib crack. _Ow_. She arched her neck and then plowed her head down—effectively headbutting his abdomen. She had the satisfaction of hearing his oomph! Before he squeezed again.

It really hurt, she thought, winded. She turned her face, cheek pressed to his tank top, and tried not to cry out. The motion of her head caused the cotton material to slide up, exposing a two inch patch of skin near his hip. Panting, hurting, and pissed she pressed her mouth to the vulnerable spot—intent on biting—when she felt him go completely still beneath her.

Curious, she slanted him a glance from behind the fall of her hair and found that he had his eyes squeezed shut and seemed to be muttering something beneath his breath. Against her breasts she felt something stir causing her eyebrows to shoot up.

Hange had taught them all enough about biology for her to know exactly what was happening. Mikasa found herself torn between amusement, embarrassment, and shock that _she_ was giving her Captain an erection. They'd sparred together dozens of times and not once had this happened—at least…she didn't think it had?

This was an entirely new advantage, she thought, ignoring the sudden heat in her abdomen. Slow, she lowered her head, used her nose to push aside even more fabric and placed her lips to his skin once more—only she didn't bite. Instead she ran the blunt of her teeth against the ridge of his hip and then, tentatively, flicked her tongue to taste.

"Fucking Hell, Ackerman, what the hell are you doing?"

He sounded so strained, so unlike _Humanity's Strongest _that she almost laughed…except she didn't feel like laughing. What she felt like was dragging her lips back over his heated skin that tasted slightly salty and smelled of pine. So she did.

The legs around her squeezed and his hips rose a bit, but it wasn't painful. It was almost involuntary, she surmised. She adjusted her angle, sucked a fair amount of skin into her mouth. There would be a red mark, she thought with some satisfaction. One of many marks and bruises they'd shared, but this one was different.

She rocked forward wanting—_needing— _to feel his reaction and he obliged with a sharp upward thrust, the hard ridge of his sex nestled between her breasts. _Oh. Well, okay then, _she thought as her pulse stuttered and heat pooled. She slid back, just a bit, and then up, angling her body down to rub against his groin.

This had been inevitable, she realized, still pressing, moving, urging. It had been building between them since the Female Titan fight and the tension and training and concern all bled over into _this_ and it was consuming. She didn't bother trying to fight it, or rationalize it. Mikasa trusted her instincts and her every fiber knew that_this_ was supposed to be. That he was hers and she was his and on some level she'd probably always known it, and now—now she would claim, and take, and give and it would be how it was supposed to be.

Levi made a sound—a low hum that was caught somewhere between groan and growl that sounded curiously like the word 'fuck'—and it made her skin tighten and her body tense and the delicious heat to spread. She wanted to hear that sound again. And again.

She was fascinated by the harsh planes of his face, the way the tendons in his neck stood out, the dark glitter of his eyes as he watched her lav his skin with her tongue and rock into his body. He shifted, his hands moving to grasp the back of her head, fingers flexing into her hair. She teethed the edge of his shorts and he made another delicious sound and arched beneath her.

He was so responsive, she thought. Such a contradiction to the soldier who held himself poised, aloof, and in control at all times. She liked this side of him. Somewhere in the back of her mind she recognized that she could come to crave this from him. This crack in his shell, this response to her touch. It was addictive and she'd barely begun.

She felt the hard press of his fingertips against her scalp and the heat of _him_beneath her, and the way he looked… Yes, she thought. She could come to crave this.

She dipped her head, drug her open mouth along the plane of his stomach and felt his abdomen quiver. "Do you surrender?" she asked, hardly recognizing her own voice—low and throaty as it was.

Abruptly—as if her voice had broken the spell—he unwrapped his legs from her and shoved her off, scrambling backwards. He stopped a few feet from where she crouched, now blinking and confused—and feeling achingly empty all of the sudden—and shoved his hands into his hair, dragging them back while letting out a long breath. "That's it. That's…enough for today." He took a shuddering breath, and for the first time since she'd known him, he was unable to meet her gaze.

"Captain?" Mikasa swallowed the lump of nervousness in her throat. He'd like what she had been doing, she wasn't an idiot. She brushed her own hair back into some semblance of order, but remained looking at him—waiting for his acknowledgment. When it didn't come she said, "Levi." And that snapped his head up.

She watched his expression waver for a moment before his usual calm and collected—and _bored—_expression slid back into place like a mask. "Commendable tactic," he said, rising to his feet. "I wouldn't recommend using it regularly, but it was an effective form of distraction."

Mikasa blinked. What the hell? She pushed herself to her feet. "A form of distraction," she repeated.

He nodded.

She stepped forward—he stepped back. She halted, taking a breath."Really, sir?"

"Really, what?"

"You think that was about distracting you?"

He shrugged. "Like I said, an effective technique."

She let her eyes drop to his shorts where the evidence of his distraction was still strong. "Obviously."

He cursed, snapping his towel from the floor and turning his back on her. "I'm human," he dismissed. "Don't flatter yourself."

That shouldn't hurt. It was a minor insult compared to the barbs they usually flung, but it did. "Wouldn't dream of it, sir." She grabbed her duffel bag, slung it across her back and started for the double doors before she whirled back around. "You know, I've called you many things, and you irritate the shit out of me, but I've never taken you for a liar or a coward before."

He turned to face her, his expression carefully blank. "It's not a lie. You rubbed your tits on my dick and I got a hard on. Nothing more."

She wanted to punch him for that. To tackle him to the ground and kiss him and touch him and peel back the layers until he was making those sounds again. But she wouldn't. She had her pride too. "You keep telling yourself that, Captain. Maybe one day you'll believe it." And then she was gone.

Levi sighed, dropping onto the bench in the corner, tucking his head into his hands. Maybe one day he would, he thought, but today was not that day.


	4. Chapter 4

**"Crushes"**

* * *

Levi scanned the numerous documents in his hands, eyes narrowed as he took in statistics, performance reviews, personality profiles and health reports. He separated a few from the selection and placed them at the corner of his desk for removal.

He had already trimmed his candidates down to six when Erwin entered his office with a short knock. The Commander took in the dismissal pile and the short stack in front of Levi with a hint of a smile. "Making progress, I see."

Levi made a noncommittal sound, closing the folder currently in his hands. He pushed back in his chair, tilting his head to meet Erwin's eyes.

"There are some talented soldiers in there," Erwin added. "I trust you will fine tune them."

Levi shrugged, eyeing his commanding officer. "I can't help but notice some names curiously absent from the list of candidates," he commented.

"Each of those files was hand picked. If there's someone we overlooked—"

"Ackerman." Levi cut in without preamble.

"Not an option."

"I'm curious as to the logic of that. She's a damn beast when it comes to slaying titans."

"And she's an unpredictable risk when it comes to Jaegar," Erwin countered. He tipped his head, a flicker of amusement crossing his features. "Not to mention I'd be hard pressed to find a replacement for you once she kills you."

"Tch. That mouthy brat couldn't get the best of me on my worst day."

Erwin's mouth tipped at the corner. "So you say. Regardless, Ackerman will not be joining your squad. She and Arlert will be on a team directly supervised by me. They proved invaluable in taking down the Female Titan, and it is my opinion that keeping some distance between her and Jaegar is not only smart but beneficial. To both of them. Reliance is not something we can afford to promote in our soldiers."

"And that's the only reason?" Levi questioned, his eyes glittering speculatively.

"What other reason would there be, Captain?"

Never one to mince words or not speak his mind, Levi simply said, "Your infatuation with her."

Erwin raised a brow. "Pardon?"

"I'm not blind. I see the way you watch her."

"She's a formidable soldier—as you, yourself, just stated. She is also unpredictable—as I mentioned. It is best to pay attention to a risk such as that rather than ignore it."

"So you watch her sparring to assess risk?" Levi snorted. "Are you also assessing her when she is in your room at night?"

At Erwin's startled expression Levi added, "Last week. I was up late. I saw her leave your room."

"And if you'd bothered to ask, instead of jumping to illogical conclusions, you would have known she was there with Arlert and Hange."

"Is that so?"

"Yes."

"A secret meeting that I wasn't invited to?" Levi snorted. "Bullshit."

"Hardly secret and hardly a meeting. Hange was requesting physical endurance tests for Eren and Arlert was helping with a tactical review of the retrieval battle."

"And Ackerman?"

"Mikasa…_Miss Ackerman_," Erwin corrected at Levi's arched brow, "Was changing my bandage." Erwin motioned to his pinned shirtsleeve and absent right arm.

Levi felt a small twinge at that—wishing he had been there during the battle. Maybe he would have made a difference, then again, maybe not. It was hard to say, and he couldn't change it, so he shook it off, saying, "Why couldn't Hange manage? She was right there, you say."

Erwin sighed. "Miss Ackerman feels…_indebted_ to me."

"For charging to the rescue of her idiot." Levi let out his own sigh. Typical. How many times had he saved Jaegar's ass only to get icy glares and death threats?

"Idiot he may be, but Eren is also the best hope humanity has of defeating the titans."

"So you say."

"I do."

"Whatever. So it's not you fawning over her, but her over you. Either way it's an attachment and you should be careful. The more she's around you, the more of an issue it could potentially become."

"Do you really think so?"

Was that a damn _hopeful _note in his commander's voice? Levi shot him a glower. "She belongs with the Special Ops squad. That is where her talent is best used—kicking titan ass, not playing lovesick nursemaid to you."

This brought a small frown. "If I didn't know better, Levi, I'd swear you were jealous."

"It's a good thing you know better."

"Indeed."

Both men stared at each other for a long minute before Erwin turned away. "Let me know your final decisions in the morning."

Levi made a small 'tch' under his breath. "I want Ackerman." _On the squad, _his brain filled in, but left unsaid.

Erwin paused at the door, his features shadowed as he turned. "You can't have her."

Levi met his stare and smirked. "I guess we'll see about that."

Ignoring the taunt Erwin opened the door to find the object of their discussion with her hand poised to knock.

"Mika—Miss Ackerman." He cleared his throat.

"Commander," she greeted and graced him with a salute and a smile. _A fucking smile_, Levi noticed.

"Did you need to speak with me?" He asked, rising from his chair.

She shook her head, her eyes never straying from Erwin. "No, sir. I was looking for Commander Erwin."

"Oh? That's a pleasant surprise." Erwin smiled easily, a dimple appearing in his cheek and to Levi's utter disgust Ackerman actually blushed.

"Well, what the hell do you want?" Levi cut in when the two of them simply continued their stupid staring contest.

She shot him a glare around Erwin before turning doe eyes on the commander. "Sasha informed me that the kitchen has a fresh supply of herbal teas and I wanted to make some for you. A family recipe that helps with healing and relaxation."

"That's very thoughtful of you." Erwin proffered his left arm. "Shall we?"

Mikasa wrapped her slim fingers around his elbow and they headed down the corridor.

"Did you get the chance to ask him?" Levi heard Mikasa as he approached the still open door to close it. He paused, listening.

"Unfortunately all of the openings for Levi's squad have been filled," Came Erwin's reply.

"Surely you could pull rank, or something?"

"As it happens I think it would be best for now if you were to work alongside me, on a personal task force…" and then the voices faded as they rounded the corner.

_You sneaky bastard._


	5. Chapter 5

**"Empty"**

* * *

Every story she'd ever read had told of the joys of falling in love—of finding your soul mate, true love, happily ever after—but nowhere, not in any of the books Armin found for her, did it tell of the sorrow felt when someone fell out of love.

There were no fairy tales that depicted clandestine meetings, secret kisses, and lingering touches fading into barely there nods of strangers passing in the hall, narrow-eyed-glares, nor how the space between fingers could feel so very empty.

Never was there a mention of how making love could change to hasty fucking and the after was no longer filled with whispers of secret dreams and hidden fears, but instead with the hiss of a shower as he scrubbed the feel of her and the scent of_them_ from himself.

No princess was ever left staring at the wall, hands clutched to a cold pillow, while doubt and anger festered. No prince charming ever looked at his love with disinterest and boredom, bordering on contempt. No fairytale couple ever loved so completely only to drift apart so suddenly and it made Mikasa so _angry._

She felt lied to. Duped. Tricked into believing such a thing could even exist in this cold, cruel word. Because she _had _believed it. But if she was honest, she knew it wasn't because of any foolish story. It was because _he_ had made her believe. Him with his quiet patience and sarcastic wit. With his determination and subtle tenderness. With his careful touches and skillful kisses.

He had made her feel…so many things. Passion, tenderness, expectation, _hope. _And she had fallen in love. Loved him with fierce intensity, unquestioning loyalty, unwavering devotion…and for what?

For a hollow ache and yet another unrealized dream.

Mikasa sighed quietly and lifted the box from the stripped bed. She had left new sheets and fresh blankets on the dresser, carefully folded—just how he liked them—and removed her 'frilly' curtains from his windows. She glanced around the room, double checking to make sure that no trace of her remained. Not that it mattered, she thought with a pang. He'd just scrub her out like an unwanted stain.

Satisfied, she turned and left the room. She closed the door quietly behind her and refused to look back.


	6. Chapter 6

**"Doubts"**

* * *

He hears them whisper to her when they think he is out of earshot—asking her if she's _sure. _If this is really what _she _wants. Most are quiet and secretive about their concerns while others—Jaegar and Kirschtien, in particular—are rather vocal. Mikasa assures them all that yes, this is really what she wants, and yes, Levi is the man she wishes to wed…but sometimes…sometimes, Levi catches the small hesitation before she replies and part of him—small and buried deep—fills with fear and he wonders…_does she?_

No one asks _him_ if he is uncertain. Why would they? He couldn't possibly find a better partner, he thinks, as he studies his drink. A woman that can match him physically, who challenges him mentally, who arouses him completely. No—no one asks if he is certain, because how could he _not_ be?

And he _is_ certain. He's never been more certain of anything in his life…only he's not sure that _she_ is and the doubt settles on him like a cement shawl, and he can feel the weight of it pressing more and more every day. Especially today of all days. The day before his wedding.

He glances at the clock, seeing that it's a quarter past eleven. Mikasa is probably already asleep—she's not much of a night owl. He can hear the patrol outside and the familiar noises of the castle after dark—everything is as it should be, and yet…

He sighs, finishing his brandy and placing the tumbler onto his nightstand. His thoughts are unsettled, rattling around in his head like mis-matched puzzle pieces and he can't seem to put any two together to form anything rational. Instead he feels himself growing heavy, weighted and…sad. What if…what if she _doesn't_ want this? Want him?

He couldn't blame her if she didn't, he thinks. He's no prize catch, after all. Moody, with a temper, an emotional cripple (Hange's words), a history that he is mostly ashamed of, a future that is most likely bloody and gruesome…

Fuck. Why the hell _was_ she marrying him?

His depressing montage is interrupted by a soft rap on his door before it's pushed open and Mikasa herself slips inside. Levi stands immediately. She looks anxious—and beautiful, in her long white robe with her hair loose around her shoulders—and he feels his heart kick and then race. She was here to call it off. He takes a breath and straightens his shoulders. He is prepared, he thinks, to let her go, if that's what she needs. Her happiness above all else. Even if it killed him.

With that thought he speaks, sounding far too stilted, even to his own ears. "Ackerman, what brings you here at this hour?"

Mikasa halts, midway between the door and his bed, one eyebrow arched nearly to her hair. She studies him for a moment before replying, "I think we both know the answer to that."

He swallows and his mouth goes dry. "Yes," he murmurs. "I think we do."

"Good." She smiles and it's brilliant. "Then why the hell are you still dressed?" She tugs the belt of her robe and lets it drift down to pool at her feet and she is gloriously, splendidly, naked.

Levi feels his entire body hum to life. "Uhm…" is all he manages before she is pressed against him, her hands tugging his shirt from his pants.

"Mikasa." It's a hiss of sound because her teeth are clamped to his ear and she's managed to work the buttons of his pants and _fuckingtitanballs_ she's already stroking him.

"I've missed you," she says on a sigh.

"Mikasa," he tries again. Gentle, he places his hands on her shoulders. "Stop."

She slowly releases him, but doesn't move away. Instead her palms rise to cup his jaw, fingers framing his face. "Levi, what is it?" She is concerned and it shows in her dark eyes.

He moves his hands to grip her wrists and he meets her eyes. "Are you sure?" is all he wants to know.

Her expression is confused for a moment and then she softens—lips parting on a small 'oh'—before she leans her head down to press their foreheads together. "Levi." There is a hint of exasperation in her tone, but her touch is tender. "What's this about? Cold feet?"

Levi feels his mouth tighten. "I don't get cold feet," he grumbles.

"Oh, and I do?" she counters.

No. He'd never known her to. He sighs, closing his eyes. "I just don't want to be a spur of the moment decision that you regret."

She rubs her thumbs against the planes of his cheeks. "How long have we been together?"

"Three years, give or take."

"Three years, eight months and four days," she corrects. He smiles a bit at that. And people call _him _anal. "So, you know, I've had plenty of time to regret—if I was going to. And I don't."

"Yeah, but I only asked to marry your ass last month."

"And my ass—as well as the rest of me—accepted. Gladly." She brushes her mouth over his—soft and open—causing his heart to bottom out. "I want to be with you—always. For as many days as fate allows. I don't regret saying yes. I won't regret being your wife." She holds his gaze. "Ever."

"You might," he replies, but he's feeling more sure. "We're gonna fight."

"Mmhm," she nods. "That's a given. And you'll lose—as usual."

"Tch."

"And then we'll make up." She slides against him, reminding him that she is blessedly naked.

"We're good at that."

"We are." Her lips play against his and he forgets himself for a moment. "Now, if you don't mind, I came in here with the intention of seducing my future husband."

"Don't let me stop you," he says, feeling weight on his shoulders lift as she presses him down and back.


	7. Chapter 7

**"Expectations"**

* * *

They say that whatever doesn't kill you only makes you stronger, and as far as Levi is concerned, that's a true enough statement. One doesn't become _Humanity's Strongest_ without enduring a shit-pile of horror that could have, should have, and probably would eventually, kill him.

He's never really bothered to analyze it before—always using the trials and hellish demands of his life as motivation to continue forward, to press onward. The deaths of his comrades, of his peers, of his squad—all of it was fuel for the rage inside—the fire that he would unleash upon the titans to wipe those giant dickless assholes from the world.

He held onto his rage and hate like so many others held hope and faith. What use was hope in the face of a fifteen meter titan? Hope was for those without the power to determine their fate.

The woman nestled on his lap shifts, a sigh ghosting over his pulse as she nuzzles closer in her sleep. She makes a sound, a half awake murmur of his name, and smiles dreamily. Unconsciously, Levi tightens his hold on her, bending his head to kiss the top of hers. She shifts again and tangles her longer legs with his, practically wrapping herself around him in a fair imitation her annoying scarf. Except it's not annoying…not really, and that alone tells him how much she's changed him.

Levi exhales, closing his eyes. It's early yet, with the sun barely crawling over the horizon. He has time to sleep, if he chooses, but he knows rest won't come. Not after the news Mikasa laid on him during the night.

Absently, his hand drifts…down her arm—fingertip light—before crossing her torso to dip against her abdomen. He feels his lips twitch at the hardness beneath his palm. Best abs of the 104th, he remembers hearing Connie say—right before Levi_accidentally _knocked him in the back of his bald head.

Best abs of the 104th, his ass. Mikasa has the best abs in the Legion, Levi thinks with pride. He wonders how different it will be in a few months when her stomach is no longer washboard tight, but gently curving?

His fingers splay, spreading over her skin to span nearly the width of her. He can't help but mentally picture her round, glowing…_happy. _Because she is happy. She was practically floating when she told him the news.

She wants a family.

She craves one.

It's why Jaegar is so damned important to her.

Levi wants to give her the world. Anything she wants. Except this.

This terrifies him in ways he's never been terrified before.

Mikasa is his partner—his equal. They both know and take the risks of being a soldier. They both give their everything, willing to die for the sake of humanity or each other. He knows that should she fall she would give him her strength and her will and he would move forward—painfully—just as he always has, just as she would should that fate befall him.

But a child…

A child changes everything.

How do you move on from a child? How do you march into battle knowing you may never return home? That they may be forced to grow up alone and frightened in this awful, fucked up world? How did anyone do it?

He flexes his fingers, thinking about how frail the life blooming inside of her is. How fragile. How easily stolen…

"Levi."

He blinks, tipping his gaze down. She is awake and watching him. He says nothing—he doesn't need to. She sees it all in his face. Without a word she places her hand over his, the one resting on her still flat abdomen and holds him—them—together. "We can do this," she says.

He wants to believe her. Desperately. But he doesn't know how _she_ can believe it when she's lost so much. She sees just as much fucked up shit as he does, witnesses first hand the cruelty of their world. He tells her as much and a smile lifts her lips.

"The world is cruel," she says solemnly. Then she leans up, kisses him on the mouth—soft and sweet and full of all the silent things they have yet to say. "And very beautiful."

The morning light has begun to peek through his dark curtains and when she leans back it halos her hair. She looks ethereal. It hurts his heart.

"It is," he agrees. He rolls her gently, back to the mattress and settles above her braced on his forearms. _You are._ Is left unspoken.

She trails her fingers through his hair, pushing back his long bangs to search his eyes. He feels vulnerable and uncomfortable, but he doesn't look away.

"We'll be okay," she whispers.

He lowers his head and takes her mouth. And he_ hopes_.

It's all he can do.


	8. Chapter 8

**"Prenatal Care"**

* * *

"Are you serious with this shit?"

Mikasa tilted her head, gave Levi a long slanted look through narrowed eyes and motioned for him to be quiet. He shuffled the pamphlet in his hands and crossed his ankles, mouthing 'whatever'.

Satisfied that he wasn't going to interrupt again, Mikasa returned her attention to the bespectacled woman in front of the room. "Go on," she encouraged.

Hange grinned, a wicked gleam in her eyes. "As I was saying, the entire process is beautiful." She held up a book, opened to an illustration—a very up close and personal illustration—of a woman's vagina.

Levi blinked, leaning forward. "What the hell is that?" he demanded, pointing.

Hange's eyebrows lifted as she gave him a dubious look. "A vagina."

"You're a riot, shitty-glasses. I know it's a damn vagina. I want to know what _that_ is." He pointed.

She tipped the book and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "Oh. That's the baby's head. This part of labor is called 'crowning.'"

"Not that," Levi repeated, standing. He shoved his index finger directly to the page. "_That_."

Hange peered. "Oh. Looks like a bit of feces."

Levi jerked his hand back as if scalded, nose curling. "Gross."

"It's not actual feces, it's just a depiction of it," Hange said, laughing at his reaction.

Levi whirled when he heard and echoing chuckle from Mikasa, his expression still comically disgusted. "You're gonna sit there and listen to her call this fluid-filled-shit-fest beautiful without batting a lash, aren't you?"

"I don't think I've ever heard childbirth described so poetically," Hange murmured, grinning.

"This isn't '_The Miracle of Life_'," he read from the pamphlet still in hand. "This is unsanitary, filthy, hell."

Mikasa shifted, her hands moving to cradle her swollen abdomen. "Well, then I guess you don't have to be there," she told him, her voice icy calm. "I'm sure Eren wouldn't squirm like a child at the sight of a little blood and bodily fluids."

"Jaegar isn't going to be with a hundred feet of my child when he's born."

"He will be if I say he will," she shot back.

"Come to think of it, I'm sure Armin could benefit from some first hand experience," Hange chimed in.

"No!" Levi waved his hands. "We're not inviting the entire damn legion to stare at at your ass in stirrups."

"Well, it's my ass, isn't it?" Mikasa demanded, pushing herself—awkwardly—to her feet. "My messy, bloody, possibly torn ass and nethers, right? So if the too-squimish-to-support-me father of my baby can't bear to be around for the delivery, then I'll invite whomever I damn well want to! And if you don't like it, then I suggest you man up and be there yourself!"

"Hormones make you extra bitchy."

"Levi, I swear—!" She yanked the book from Hange's hands and threw it at his head.

"Ow! Damn it, Ackerman!"

"Hange, hand me that fetus."

"Uhm..." Hange protectively picked up her models.

"Nevermind."

"Put down that fucking chair!"

"I will! On top of your pointy little head!"

"Mikasa!" Hange ducked. "Levi!"

"What the devil is going on in here?" The conference room door slammed open, Erwin and two guards pressing through the doorway, staring at the scene in front of them in disbelief: Levi, with one arm up to defend his head; Mikasa, with a chair swung back, ready to strike; Hange with arms laden with books and lady part models.

"Prenatal classes, Erwin," Hange called, her voice sing-song cheery.

"I...see..." He swallowed, doing his best to keep his mouth from twitching up. "Going well, I see."

"Fuck off, Erwin."

"Don't talk to the Commander like that!" The chair went flying.

"Damn it, Mikasa! That fucking hurt!"

"It was supposed to!" Mikasa turned suddenly. "Commander Erwin, would you like to be present at the bir—"

Levi clamped his hand over her mouth, wrapped his arm around her waist. "Over my dead body." Her eyes snapped warning and he felt his mouth curve up at the corners. "Of course I'm going to be there, brat, right beside you. Damn, sometimes you're stupid."

"Mmr stpd." Came her muffled reply, but he could feel her lips arch against his palm.

Erwin motioned for his men to leave and slowly backed from the room, closing the door and shaking his head. One day those two were going to kill each other, he was almost sure of it.

Rising from behind the desk, Hange grinned. "That was exciting. Now, if you're both settled, we can move on to the cutting of the umbilical cord. It has to be done just right or blood squirts everywhere. Here's a picture."

"I'm going to fucking puke."


End file.
